Michael doesn’t feel nice. He feels anxious and sad and frustrated and frightened, the same things he’s felt every time he’s touched Wolfgang too much since the beginning of the month. If Wolfgang thinks it’s nice then it’s alright, he tries to tell himself—but he’d thought it was alright that last time too, and then they’d told him they were scared, and he’d had no idea. He can’t trust himself. Wolfgang is too important.
If his leg were in a different position, if his face weren’t pressed to closely to their body, he’d feel safer about lying here and letting Wolfgang hold him. That’s the kind of touching he’s been allowing lately, anything that doesn’t require him making a decision or intruding into their personal space too much. It worries him that this happened in his sleep. It makes him feel tired. It makes him want to give up.